


To Have and To Hold

by laughablyunimportant



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Asphyxiation, BDSM, Begging, Bondage, Dubious Consent, Hair-pulling, M/M, PWP, Rope Bondage, Teasing, Underage Sex, breath play
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-03-06
Updated: 2012-03-06
Packaged: 2017-11-01 13:54:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/357564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laughablyunimportant/pseuds/laughablyunimportant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just some porn I wrote once and never finished.</p><p>[permanently abandoned]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Just a Dream

                       When you first see him, you think it's a trick.

            Sometimes you see people in the bubbles that aren't really there, wispy figures constructed out of memories that never stay very long. Like your Bro.  
            Seeing John, then, felt like fantasy.  
            You open your eyes, and there he is, hovering over you. You're sitting with your back to a gear, back in your four aces suit, and he has your glasses halfway off your face, kneeling in front of you, pristine white suit at odds with the oppressive heat of LOHAC (you always seem to wake up in your old land, no matter how much you wish for a change from the constant oppressive heat). He freezes when your eyes open, but when you don't move to stop him, he pulls them the rest of the way off, clipping them to your collar.   
            He laughs, and you think, _wow_.  
            "I finally get to see your eyes, and they're all white, just like mine!"  
            He's smiling, so close to you, and you see that he's right, his eyes are white through and through, and you think, this isn't a dream.  
            Or, well, it is, but it's the usual one. The one where you're dead, and the only other people you meet are dead or dreaming.  
            "They used to be red," you say, and he puts his hands to his face in that ridiculous 'ohmygosh' expression that you used to tell him made him look like a fourteen-year-old girl. Which, now that you think about it, was a lot less biting of an insult to a thirteen-year-old boy than it sounded like. "When did you die?"  
            His face falls, and you feel bad for asking. He flickers, wearing a casual t-shirt and jeans, teeth gone and eye bruised, face almost smashed in, blood dripping down the side of his head to his unnaturally twisted neck. Then he's back, he's Egbert with a shaky smile, lips pressed a little thin, unnatural blue eyes gone white. "Have you talked to Aradia about how godtier works?"  
            You shrug. "Don't need to. You figure out what you need to know after a couple years."  
            His eyes go a little wide, and then he throws his arms around you in a hug, mouth close to your ear when he says "You too?"  
            "Yeah. Trolls got a little rough in training." He gives another laugh, this one a little wet and sniffly, and you have a feeling that if he pulled back right now, his eyes would be brimming with unshed tears.   
            "This whole godtier thing should come with a warning tag!"   
            "Heh, yeah. You'll come back, but you leave a dead you behind." He settles back on his heels, and yes, you're right, his eyes are a little too bright, which strikes you as odd, since they're white, how can they be brighter than white? "I missed you."  
            He breaks into a smile. "I missed you too." Then he kisses you.  
            You could make a deal of it. You could ask, what happened to not a homosexual? You could say, slow your roll Egbert, I know you've been pining after me for two years, but no reason to jump my jock the first five seconds. But, it **has** been two years. So you don't say anything at all.  
            You kiss him back, pressing close. He surprises you with a tongue in your mouth, and then he works a knee between your legs, and you groan, threading a hand in his hair, pulling tight, pushing him back. "Wait."  
            He backs off, looking like a puppy dog that just had his favorite chew toy stolen, and you bring a hand to his cheek, a small smile quirking your lips as you cup his face. "I've waited two years for you." He blushes, and you pause in what you were going to say. "You. Didn't wait, did you." His face gets a little redder, and you let out a breath in something that sounds like a sigh, looks like a sigh, is definitely not a sigh. "Davesprite?"  
            He nods, giving a little squeak. "He really likes me. Er. Other me, now, I guess."  
            You give him another kiss, lips pressing to his forehead. "Just about every Dave you run into is going to. We've been crushing on you pretty hard, you know."  
            A little frown creases his mouth. "But, there's a lot more of you than there are of me. I can't be with all of you."  
            You give another shrug. "Rules are different when you're dead. Especially when you're…whatever we are. Seems we're kept separate from all the other dead selves. Seen two or three me's running around, and a Rose. There's even a Vriska. Rose said she met a Jade, but you're the first John here, I think. And, there's nothing that says we can't all share."  
            "No," he says, and you don't frown, but you want to. "I don't think I like sharing." He leans in then, breath warm on your neck when he says, "You're all _mine_." Your breath catches then, and he chuckles, just the way you thought he would sound. "You still got that kink?"   
            You swallow around the lump in your throat. "And a few others." He pulls back to raise an eyebrow at you, quizzical, and you keep your voice even when you say, "I didn't really wait either. Rose likes to watch, I like to show, and Karkat doesn't care either way, just wants somewhere to stick his tentadick that won't get it chopped off for being bright red. Which, by the way. Neither I nor Rose objected to." He pauses. "The tentadick, I mean."  
            John's jaw has dropped open, and it's hard to tell what he's feeling, exactly, with his pupil and iris whited out. Then he says, "Why'd you stop?"  
            "This didn't seem like the place for…that. Wanted to dream up somewhere new."  
            "Oh." You close your eyes. Well. Maybe John doesn't want used goods. Then you feel his hand in your hair, pulling it tight, and your eyes fly open to find that you're in a room with plush red velvet walls, candles flickering on a long dresser against the wall, sitting, not on a gear, but on a bed with black satin sheets, back against the headboard.   
            "How's this?" He gives you a lopsided grin, and your hissed "Yes," brings him to your neck again, biting down as he pulls at your scalp. You groan, and his other hand starts to explore, trying to go up under your suit jacket, but you've got a shirt tucked in under that, and he growls against your skin, pulling back in frustration. He starts pulling at your clothes, but when you hear a button pop, you push him back again. "Wait."   
            Same puppy dog look as before. "What now?" He sounds like the mailman's taunting him, too, and you give him another smile, a little bigger than last time.   
            "No rush," you say, and he opens his mouth to protest, so you put a finger to his lips, cutting him off. "We can keep going, but, dude. Even if this isn't our first time, it's our first time together. We don't need to hurry this." Your arms go around his neck, settling comfortably, wrists crossed behind his head. "Now what do you say you and I get up, get naked, maybe talk a little about what we've been doing the past two years, dream up some rope, and do this right."  
            He gives you another kiss, and you think this is him saying to hell with that, lets rush things, until he pulls back, leaving you panting. "Alright. Let's get _naked._ "


	2. Straight Out of a Porno

            Dave looks different than you expected, though, you guess, you're not sure what you were really expecting. You're so used to Davesprite, orange and cold and smooth, that this Dave's warmth throws you. So do his legs. And his. Well, his everything, really!  
            He has a nice chest, muscled, firm. His arms, too, feel nice under your grip, and you run your hands down them, giving him a shy smile before twining the rope around his limbs. He has to coach you through where to put the rope, how to twine it and where to put what kind of knots. You did this a couple times with Davesprite, but that was as much about him giving in as actually binding him, since it's hard to bind someone that can phase right through whatever you wrap him in. This Dave is already shaking under your grip though, and you let your hand linger, drawing lightly along his skin.   
            He's had a hard time, among the trolls. He said that training had gotten rough, and you pressed, but, that was all there was to it. It was normal to them, to fight hard enough to die. It had become normal to Dave, too, since he didn't have to fear dying. Except, it turned out, he did.

            You told him about your fight with Typheus. You were all supposed to be on good terms with the denizens, since Jade made her deal with Echidna. But when Casey got too close, he'd started to freak out, and, well. You'd stepped in. It had been an accident—it didn't take much for a denizen to kill someone, even if they weren't trying—which was the only reason it wasn't heroic.

            It had hurt. A lot.

            It was—there weren't really words, for how good it was, to catch up with Dave. It sounded like he'd been here, in this shared place of nonheroic, unjust dead, for four months. He said he spent a lot of time alone. You got the feeling that the other Daves made him uncomfortable. You were sort of eager to meet them, but this Dave will always be your Dave, you think, even if it's only because you met him first, by crazy random happenstance. Even if the circumstances of you two meeting was just chance, this, right here, what he's giving to you now, isn't. 

            You finish up the last knot, and he looks at you with saucer-wide eyes, back resting against the headboard, legs awkward in front of him, cock half-hard between them. That's still weird to you, that he has, something, down there. But you think you can handle this. And if you can't, you'll have plenty of time to figure things out in the future.  
            A smile hovers on your lips, and without any warning, you duck forward, burying your nose in his pubic hair, just above his penis, breath ghosting out across his skin. You hear him suck in a breath above you, and your lips brush against him as you say, "Tell me want you want."  
            "You're the one who dreamed up a room straight out of a porno," he growls. "Don't tell me you don't know where this is going."  
            You mouth at him, hands kneading at his thighs while you take in the taste of his skin, not touching his now hard cock. You pull back abruptly to face him, courting a smirk you've learned from his orange counterpart over the years. "I know exactly where this is going." You lean in to say, directly in his ear, "But I want to hear you _beg_ for it." He makes a soft sound that sparks a response in your groin, and your hands trail their way up to his stomach, light motions teasing against skin criss-crossed by rope. You bite his ear, teeth pressing against skin, increasing pressure when he tenses under you and makes another noise. But he's still not begging. In point of fact, he laughs at you.  
            "You're going to have to try harder than that," he says. "Trolls play things rough, even when they're trying to be nice." You pull back and see he's smirking right at back at you, so one hand settles lightly on his cock, tracing movements so light they're hardly there. "I told you: if you want me to be rough, you've got to beg for it."  
            He keeps his expression steady, but pushes up into your hand. You push him down, smile unchanged, but a hard glint in your eyes. You shift so that your hands are on either side of him on the headboard, bodies close, but not touching. You kiss him, the first aggressive move you've made since you brought out the rope, sucking at his bottom lip, tongue exploring his mouth until he's panting and straining against his bindings, pushing up into you, and you push him back down, pulling back.   
            "More," he says, voice rough, the second your lips part. "Fucking dammit Egbert, more."  
            "Beg for it," you say, and you're still smiling, because it used to piss Davesprite off, but get him going too.   
            He grunts and cants his hips up, dick brushing against you as he strains. He has a second to close his eyes and groan before you swing off the bed and he growls in frustration. "Are you going to do this or not?"  
            You don't answer, stepping away and out of sight, though you could summon whatever you want right from the bed. When you come back, it's with a ballgag in your hand. He cuts off his rambling complaints and stares at you. "No."  
            You smile, sickly sweet. "You don't have any standing to say 'no,' Dave." That's not completely true—if he says 'alphabet soup' you'll stop, but it's a lot more fun to play things up like he hasn't got any say in the matter. "You say what I tell you to say, or you don't say anything at all."  
            He grits his teeth, glaring at you, but you can tell from the flush crawling up his neck that this is what he wants. "Please."  
            "Please what?" You clamber onto the bed, holding the gag aloft as if to tease him with it.  
            "Fuck me." His face is red, voice rough, but it's not enough. Not nearly.  
            You slap him.  
            His face snaps to the side, staying there for half a minute before turning to look at you, shocked for the first time since this began, pupils wide with desire. "Joh—" You cut him off. With a hand. At his throat.   
            His eyes go, if possible, wider, and he bucks up, but you don't relent. If anything, you increase pressure at his throat. "You know what the good thing about being dead is?" you say. "You don't really have to breathe. Your body just thinks you have to."


End file.
